Brotherly Love
by Catslynw
Summary: Completely finished. Set post ep 5-14, My Bloody Valentine. Lucifer captures Dean, but not to kill him. Explores depth of twisted love between Lucifer/Michael and how far Lucifer will go reestablish that sense of connection. Lucifer/Dean Lucifer/Michael
1. Chapter 1

Brotherly Love

Dean pulled experimentally at the chains that held his hands high above his head. Though he was careful, he succeeded only in cutting the skin on his wrists anew. Fresh blood tickled as it trickled down his bare arms and dripped onto his shoulders and torso. Fantastic. Just fantastic. He was going to die looking like some sort of sacrificial offering to a gay King Kong. Lucifer would be returning any second, and Dean had no more idea how he was going to get away now than he'd had an hour ago. He just prayed that Sam was still safe. Then he prayed harder still that Sam wouldn't do anything stupid trying to rescue him. He'd been Lucifer's prisoner for hours, maybe days. He really couldn't tell anymore. Worse, he wasn't even certain that he was still on Earth. The strange half-light, the way time seemed almost meaningless here, the very deadness of the air. He couldn't prove it, but in his heart he knew. He was back in the Pit. It might be the mild, PG-13 version of Hell, but it was still Hell, and no angel army was coming for him this time. His brother and Castiel would just have to find some way to stop the Apocalypse without him. God help them. A door opened behind him, and Dean twisted around trying to get a look at who'd entered. Demons had been in and out. Some to gloat, some just to stare, though none had touched him. He was Lucifer's prize capture, and he doubted the big guy would be real thrilled if anyone else played his new toy. He couldn't turn quite far enough to make out his new visitor, but he didn't have to wait to find out either. "Sorry about the interruption, Dean." Lucifer said with Nick's stolen voice. "Duty called and all that." He was smiling as he walked around to face Dean. It wasn't a malicious or malign smile, just the sort of half-grin you'd expect to see on any over-worked buddy's face, and it made Dean shudder.

"Hey, no problem," Dean replied, trying and failing to achieve a nonchalant tone. "In fact, if you want me to leave and come back later, I'd be good with that."

"I'm sure you would, but that won't be necessary." Reaching up, the fallen angel plinked one of the taut chains with his fingers. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. We were discussing brotherhood, that all important bond."

"What's to discuss? Your brothers are dicks."

"Except for Castiel?" Lucifer clarified.

"Yeah, except for Cas," Dean agreed.

"True, but as it happens, I'm not very interested in discussing my brothers at the moment. I'm more interested in discussing yours."

Dean's lips curled back from his teeth, fury boiling out of him like steam, painting his vision a bloody red. "You're not getting Sammy! I don't give a fuck what you do to me. I won't help you get him. I won't!"

"Shhh," Lucifer whispered, brushing Nick's fingertips gently over Dean's jaw. "Calm down, Dean. It's okay. I know you won't help me get Sam. I know it. You love him, and you'd do anything to protect him. I know that." His fingers trailed down to Dean's throat, lightly tracing the outline of his neck muscles where they bulged against the skin with tension. "Shh." The pressure that Lucifer exerted was more than verbal, more than physical. It was mental and emotional, and Dean felt his muscles beginning to relax, the frantic fury draining from his body as the angel ran gentle hands over him. He trembled. Fear for himself, fear for Sam, it all dimmed into a distant ache Lucifer focused the whole of his attention on him. When Dean's heartbeat had returned to its normal rhythm, the angel went on. "The truth is, I envy Sam. He doesn't know how lucky he is to have that kind of unconditional love. The things he's done to you, the ways he's betrayed you, and yet you always forgive him, always support him. It's inspiring. Frankly, I'm surprised that the two of you aren't… closer."

"What the fuck are you talking about? Closer how?" Dean was baffled. How much closer could you get to someone than dying for them, than going to Hell for them? By those standards, he and Sam were pretty damn close already, thank you very much.

"Come, Dean, you know what I mean. You love him with your whole heart. Why stop there?"

"Keep your filthy thoughts off my brother, you sick son of a bitch!" Dean growled, lunging instinctively for his enemy as his rage resurfaced. The chains brought him up short, and he wound up swinging from his manacled wrists, his feet barely scraping the ground as he twisted in the air.

Lucifer laughed and stopped his swinging with an arm around his waist. "Relax. Sam holds no interest for me in that way, though I can't help but be surprised that you've honestly never contemplated exploring the pleasures of flesh with him. Humans can be so narrow minded."

"You're sick," Dean spat, all the fear, hatred and disgust the monster engendered leaving him feeling sick at his stomach. Somehow, he didn't think that Lucifer would appreciate a lapful of vomit. Maybe he should give that a shot.

"Don't be so quick to judge, my little champion. Angels are not like humans. It was out of love itself that Our Father created us, and we are creatures of pure love."

"Don't even try to tell me that Zachariah is a creature of love!" Dean retorted, wholly distracted from his churning nausea by the very idea. It was ludicrous.

Lucifer grimaced in distaste. "Well, I'll admit, some of us have strayed a little from the path. But by and large, we are beings of love. We do not hem it about with artificial limits. We do not wind it round with pointless constraints. Love is love, whatever form it may take, and we feel it deeply." His hand clamped into Dean's hair, tightening painfully as he yanked Dean's head back until it felt as if his neck would snap. This, now this was the kind of treatment that Dean had expected, and he trembled, afraid of what would come next. To his surprise, Lucifer let him go, took a step back and began to pace before him, still speaking, practically ranting now. "We feel it far more deeply than you pathetic, hairless apes could ever possibly understand. Our love for one another is beyond your scope to comprehend, beyond your ability to feel. I love Michael, despite his betrayal of me, despite the fact that he supported Our Father and cast me out." Suddenly, Lucifer was directly in front of him again, clamping his head between his cold, cold hands. "I still love Michael, and I miss him. The place where his love, where God's love used to be inside me is a great, gaping hole, more vast than all the voids of Hell. Can you imagine how that must feel? Can you understand why I would do anything, anything at all to fill that void?"

Despite himself, Dean could relate to what Lucifer was saying, could understand all too well what he was feeling. That emptiness inside, that feeling of being totally alone, it was the worst torture he could imagine, and he'd been there. God knew he'd been there. Only Sam, undependable and flighty as he could be, held him back from the brink of the precipice. "Yes," Dean whispered. "I do understand."

Lucifer nodded, seemingly satisfied. "I'll tell you a secret," he said, leaning close and whispering into Dean's ear. "Of all the Horsemen, I never once spoke directly with Famine. He's the only one I shunned, the only one of my generals, demons and angels alike, that I never personally graced with my presence. I couldn't risk it, couldn't risk letting him see the emptiness inside me as he saw it in you. That would have given him too much power over me. You understand that, don't you?"

Dean nodded, sickened by the feel of the rotting skin of Nick's hands rubbing against his cheeks. He gulped, unable to look away as Lucifer leaned still closer until the angel's lips were almost touching his own. "I've tried to fill that emptiness, Dean. I have tried. Blood. Pain. Anger. I've tortured a million souls, swum in their blood, made their pain and fear and fury my own, but that hole just gets deeper and deeper. Nothing can fill it. Nothing… until now."

"Why are you telling me this?" Dean demanded, his voice hoarse with strain and fear. Fear not just for himself, but for the world subject to this tormented creature's tantrums.  
"Because I want you to understand what's about to happen between us, Dean," Lucifer murmured as his hands slid slowly down Dean's torso to rest on his naked hips. "I want you to understand that this isn't about you. You don't matter here."

"If I don't matter then why the fuck are you boring me to death with your little monologue?" Dean snapped.

Lucifer's hands shifted rapidly from Dean's hips to his throat, where they tightened until he could no longer breathe freely, could barely think. "Watch your mouth, human," Lucifer snarled. "Remember who I am. You think your time with Alastair was Hell? I trained him, boy. I can make you feel pain so profound that your nerves would never stop burning with it, not even in death."

Dean shook, terrified and losing control over his brave facade. God, just let this end…

"Luckily for you, or unluckily depending on your point of view, I have other plans. I miss my brother, Dean. I miss him with my whole being, but he won't come near me. Not even in our dreams. He has utterly abandoned me. But now… now I hold a piece of him in my very hand."

"What?" Dean gasped.

"You're Michael's vessel, Dean. You're his true vessel." Dean swallowed painfully, his eyes crossing as Lucifer leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips before resting his forehead against Dean's own. "Whether you've said yes or not is immaterial. You are still his, still a part of him, the only part I've been able to touch in an age. I miss my brother, Dean. I long to be with him one last time, but if I can't have him in my arms, I'll have you."

Adrenalin surged through Dean as the meaning Lucifer's statement sank in. No. "NO! You're freakin' insane!"

"Perhaps," the angel whispered before taking Dean's bottom lip between his teeth. His hands were still on Dean's throat. His thumbs caressed the underside of Dean's jaw.

Dean jerked away, utterly disgusted and desperate to stop this madness. "Michael fried Anna alive for just thinking about messing with his bloodline! Don't you think this will piss him off even more?" he demanded frantically.

"I'm counting on it." Lucifer smiled, no longer the buddy-grin, but an angry malicious sneer. "You belong to him, but for this moment in time, you are mine. And I will use you in ways that no human has ever been used. If Michael doesn't like it, he'll have to come stop me himself."

Dean trembled as the chains suddenly let go and Lucifer drew him close, his teeth closing on the pulse in Dean's throat. Apparently, he was all talked out.

The End

(Unless there is a LOT of begging for more, this is it folks.)


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Okay, I have bowed to pressure and continued the story. There should be one or possibly two more segments after this one. We'll see. Once more, continuation of this story is highly review dependent. I don't usually beg, but… it has been a rotten week. ;-) Have fun reading and please review. Thank you.

Chapter 2

Dean wanted to struggle, wanted to fight back, to defend himself as Lucifer pulled him to the rocky ground of the chamber, but he couldn't even scream. He could barely think as he felt the full weight of the fallen angel's mind pressing down on his own. Lucifer's resolve was implacable, his determination to utterly dominate Dean in every way, irresistible. It was like being buried beneath the weight of a malevolent, icy mountain. He was ground down. His will to resist grew smaller and smaller, the voice in his mind crying out for rescue grew quieter and quieter until he could hear nothing, see nothing and think of nothing but Lucifer. Sensations rippled through his helpless body like waves, and he drowned in an ocean of erotic sensation.

"Michael," Lucifer groaned against the skin of his abdomen, and Dean's heart pounded ever harder in his chest. This wasn't even about him. He wasn't Michael. He wasn't…

The devil's hands were everywhere, cutting one moment, caressing the next. Blood and cold sweat coated his body in equal measure. Pain and pleasure merged until Dean could no longer tell where one ended and the other began, until he could no longer tell where he ended and Lucifer began. His sense of self was fracturing, his identity dissolving away under the onslaught of the devil's passionate assault. "Michael," the devil whispered again. "Michael. Michael, I need you. Michael."

No, Dean thought. No, I'm not him. I'm not Michael. I'm – but he could no longer remember who he was, could barely remember _what_ he was except damned. He was nothing, a pale shadow of the being that Lucifer really wanted, a metaphysical blow-up doll. The devil was all around him, flowing into him through every pore, consuming him inside and out. Soon there would be nothing left. It was rape not just of the body or the mind, but of the very soul. His soul, tattered as it was, could not bear much more. Dean closed his eyes.

He was lost.

Darkness.

Pain.

Despair.

Then, in a blinding instant, he was on fire.

The fire smoldered at first, just one more sensation among many, one more jolt of his nerves, one more prick of his skin. Then slowly, so slowly it spread, blowing hot through his body, fanning flames beneath his skin. It began in his arm, searing like a brand. It scorched everywhere it touched, and yet there was no pain. The fire spread, driving back the encroaching ice of the devil's touch. It flowed through him, suffusing him with warmth, with heat, with comfort and with the undeniable certainty that he was not alone, for the fire began in the mark of his resurrection, in Castiel's mark upon his soul. It was as if Castiel were there beside him, shielding him from Lucifer's cold caresses.

Dean opened his eyes, not to darkness but to a blinding light that emanated from his own body. His skin glowed with it as if aflame. Sparks of radiance danced in the air around him like fireflies in the South Dakota night, brilliant and alive. And Lucifer… Lucifer drew away in shock and uncertainty, drew back as if afraid. The devil watched him with hooded eyes, fury growing in his gaze, a low growl issuing from his throat. He clutched one of Nick's hands to his chest, and Dean saw that it was burned, the skin blistered and cracking. Lucifer snarled, a sound of pure wrath, and Dean discovered that he could still feel fear, muted though it was by the light growing in power within him. Lucifer looked ready to pick up a blade and begin again where Alastair had left off. Dean saw carving in the monster's eyes, endless pain in his thoughts, and he shuddered. The hunter scurried backward on heels and elbows, trying to put as much distance between himself and the devil as he could, though he knew it was hopeless. He could no more turn Lucifer back from carrying out his slightest whim here in Hell than he could turn back the seasons on Earth. The fallen angel was immovable, unchanging in his hate or his love. There would be no mercy, no forgiveness, no sympathy from the Devil.

Lucifer darted forward, one decaying hand closing on Dean's ankle, and this time Dean did manage to scream even as he shrank away. "Cas!"

There was explosion in the air of the room. An explosion of light and sound that overwhelmed his faculties, that stunned senses he had no words to name. He was blind. He was deaf. For what felt like an eternity, he could see nothing, hear nothing, feel _nothing_. When at last the fog of light began to recede, Dean found himself alone and ignored, curled into a tight ball in the corner of the dungeon room. In its center stood a figure of dazzling brilliance, cloaked in light, its wings spread wide, luminescing with every color of the rainbow in that dim space, driving out the shadows.

"Lucifer, I am here."


	3. Chapter 3

Note: One, maybe two more chapter after this if people ask nicely. ;-)

Chapter 3

As Dean watched, the nimbus of light about the new arrival changed. It did not dim or diminish, but rather seemed to coalesce until it became a solid form made of pure light. Despite this, it was recognizably human, recognizably angelic, a vessel. The man was tall, easily as tall as Sam, and to Dean's shock he wore the long, black, full-skirted cassock of a Catholic priest and an aged wooden cross hung round his neck. His eyes were the same vivid shade of green that Dean saw in the mirror every day, and his short hair was as black as his robes. Grey touched his temples, and his freckled face showed the wrinkles of both sun and time. The man's hands were open at his sides, and he appeared to be unarmed, though Dean could easily have hidden a dozen weapons in that robe. The prism-like wings that glimmered in the air behind him were remarkably congruous with the rest, seeming somehow not out of place. They stretched high and wide, their tips brushing at the walls of the chamber, giving him the appearance of a caged bird. There was nothing of the pet canary or parakeet about this new arrival, however. His eyes were intent as he stared at Dean's tormentor, with all the focus of a bird of prey about strike. He seemed poised perpetually on the brink of movement, though unmoving, a wild thing about to spring.

Though he did not move, the man seemed to exert a natural pull on Lucifer, as the moon pulls on the tide, drawing him nearer step by slow step.

"Michael?" Lucifer whispered, the urgent desperation in his voice painful to hear, even for Dean.

"Yes," the man answered. He stood stock still, only his eyes tracking Lucifer's movements as the devil approached him.

"You came?" The devil's eyes narrowed angrily as he studied his heavenly brother. "You came for him?" he snarled, and Dean cringed further back into his corner, certain that Lucifer was about to turn on him once more.

For a moment Michael said nothing, dropping his gaze to the stony floor. Then, lifting eyes that reflected their own internal anguish, he said, "I came for you." Still the angel did not move, but Lucifer had closed the distance between them. The devil tentatively reached out with his burned and blistered hand, his fingertips just brushing the skin of Michael's cheek. Michael did not pull away, did not resist or attempt to avoid the touch, but his splendid wings twitched and jerked as if with some great, restrained emotion. "I've missed you," he whispered, barely loud enough for Dean to hear.

"Michael…" The burned hand cupped the angel's cheek, and then suddenly Michael was flying across the room. He smashed into the wall and landed in a twisted heap at its base, one of his wings contorted beneath him. Dean watched in horror as Lucifer pulled one of the angel killing-blades from the back of Nick's pants and advanced on his brother. "You think I'd believe that? After all this time? You think I don't know why you're really here?"

He raised the blade above his head, ready to plunge it into Michael's unprotected back, but the angel's uninjured wing swept outward, knocking Lucifer's off his feet, and then Michael was on him. They clashed together in a blur of motion, light and sound. The knife clattered to the floor, skittering across the rocky surface. Dean's breath hitched in his chest. The knife… He rushed forward, snatching at the blade, but before he could reach it, the fight reached him. Lucifer and Michael rolled, quite literally, over the top of him. Their combined weight was tremendous. The air was crushed from Dean's lungs, and he felt a gash open up on his back from a passing blow. Stunned, he curled in on himself and waited for the fight to pass him by. The moment they were clear, Dean scurried back to his corner, only barely managing to avoid being overtaken once more. The air in the chamber vibrated and crackled with power as the brothers fought. The space seemed almost to be building up a charge, building toward some great explosion that would destroy them all.

The room's great iron door crashed open, and a demon rushed in, hurrying toward the combatants. Before it had gotten near them, however, a bolt of energy shot from the interlocked pair, and the demon vanished with blood-curdling scream of agony. Whether Lucifer or Michael delivered the blow, Dean could not say. Either seemed equally likely. He knew only that the door slammed shut again, trapping him inside the small chamber with the angels, fallen and otherwise. Covering his ears with his hands, his body tingling with the building energy, his skin still feeling as if it was aflame from within, Dean closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fight _was_ over.

The devil and the angel still grappled together, but the tenor of the contact had changed entirely. Lucifer groaned, "Michael," and then his lips closed over the archangel's, his hands closing vice-like on the other man's jaw. Dean expected Michael to keep fighting, to thrust the monster away from him in disgust, but it did not happen. The angel clutched Lucifer to him, holding his fallen brother closely, so closely that Dean could no longer tell where one body ended and the other began. The great, white wings beat the air about them before closing around the pair, shielding them from view as they moaned together. Dean felt ill, thoroughly nauseated by what was happening before him. His thoughts drifted to Michael's vessel, wondering helplessly if the priest could possibly have imagined what he was letting himself in for. As Dean watched, Lucifer clawed at Michael, ripping away the cassock, exposing pale skin, now streaked with blood. The wings twitched and shook, first hiding the pair from Dean's sight, then granting him brief glimpses of dark caresses.

This was it then. Lucifer had won. The devil had turned his brother, had literally seduced him, and the world would fall. But then Dean caught a glimpse of something he did not expect… despondency. As the wings shuddered and Lucifer shifted further down his brother's body, Dean saw Michael's face clearly for a moment. The anguish there was breathtaking. The desolation in the angel's glance as he looked at Dean was beyond pain, beyond despair. Locking his gaze with Dean's, Michael mouthed one broken word. "Go." Dean gaped at him, torn. What was happening here? What was Michael doing? And how was Dean supposed to leave Hell even if he could bring himself to abandon –

The fire in Dean's body flared to new heights, the light coming from his own skin nearly blinding him with its radiance, and then he felt it. A familiar hand closed over his arm, the sound of wings echoed in his mind and Hell's dungeon vanished around him.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean woke to cold stone against his back, his ass, his legs, and for one terrible, eternal moment, he was certain he was still in Hell, still trapped with Lucifer, abandoned, angry, and growing insane with grief – the both of them. Yet, there were spots of warmth he couldn't ignore, patches of heat soaking into his aching bones, bringing relief from pain and freedom from loneliness. He wasn't alone. He wasn't. He tried to open his eyes, found them reluctant to budge, and grimaced as he fought harder to pry the lids apart.

"Dean! Hey, Dean, you're okay." The voice was too loud, too near and far too forceful for the state of Dean's nerves, but it was also Sammy's voice and that made up for all the rest. He felt something warm and damp brush across his face and that seemed to dissolve the glue holding his eyes resolutely shut. They slid gradually open and Dean saw Sam leaning over him, looking more than a little the worse for wear and clutching a dripping bandana. Sam smiled at him tremulously, looking both younger and older than the last time Dean had seen him.

"What…" Dean rasped, but his voice broke and he began to cough. His throat felt like he'd been guzzling sand, or maybe rock salt.

"You're okay. You're going to be okay," Sam said, hastily dropping the cloth into something that splashed and then clanged dully. The kid slid a hand beneath Dean's neck and lifted him slightly while bringing an open water bottle to his dry lips. Dean swallowed greedily, stopping only when his brother pulled the bottle away. "Easy there, Dean. Easy." Sam lowered his head gently back to the floor, and Dean realized that there was something beneath his head, neck and shoulders. It felt soft and worn like one of Sam's old hoodies. It probably _was_ one of Sam's old hoodies. It was only the rest of his body that lay directly on the stone floor, the cold seeping through the over-washed thinness of his jeans and directly into his skin. Where were they?

"Sammy, what happened?" It came out as a croak, but at least it came out.

"Do you remember getting grabbed by those demons?"

"Sort of." Flashes. Gunfire. Actual fire. Sam yelling his name. Castiel. Castiel screaming in pain…

"Where's Cas?" Dean demanded, trying and failing to sit up. "Sam, where – "

"He's here, Dean. He's right here," Sam said, nodding to Dean's left. Then he hurriedly brought the water back to Dean's lips as he began to cough again. When he was done drinking, gulping for air past still spasming throat muscles, he turned his head and saw the angel lying on the stone floor beside him. That was when Dean realized what he'd known on some level all along, that he could still _feel_ Castiel with him. Dean wore no coat, no heavy over-shirt, and his thermal undershirt had been sliced neatly open from shoulder to elbow. Castiel's hand was inside the sleeve of his shirt, the angel's fingers gripping him tightly precisely over the brand of the angel's own handprint. Dean could feel not just the touch of Castiel's hand, but the actual, spiritual presence of the angel beside and within him, like a fire in his blood. Castiel's grace wrapped protectively about him like a warm blanket, holding back the insidious cold of his encounter with Lucifer if not the frosty chill of the floor. Raising his right hand slowly, his muscles still stiff and trembling, Dean covered the hand that gripped him, clasping it even more tightly again his skin. "Cas?" he whispered, his voice rough with disuse. "Cas?" The angel's eyes opened not with a flutter, but with a snap, his head turned, his gaze locking onto Dean's face.

Castiel said nothing, merely looking at him intensely for a moment, his eyes searching Dean's. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him on some level, because he closed his sharp blue eyes and turned his head away with a relieved-sounding sigh. Dean snorted. "Hey man, nice rescue." Castiel nodded, but did not open his eyes. Clearly, Dean wasn't the only one done in by their little adventure.

"Sam, where are we?"

"We're in St. Michael's Chapel of the Holy Sword."

"Where?" Dean demanded.

"St. Michael's. It's one of the churches that Samuel Colt built in Wyoming, anchoring that giant devil's trap."

"Why in the world are we in a church?"

"It's where the demons took you, or at least it's where you wound up once Lucifer had you. We were afraid, at first, that he was going to take you back through the devil's gate, bodily into Hell. I've never seen Cas so freaked out."

"What can I say? Cas is a worrier." When Dean braced himself against the floor and started trying to sit up, Sam hurried to help him. They hit a small snag, however, when Cas showed some reluctance to let go of Dean's arm – a fact Dean found oddly comforting – but they finally managed to get the angel to settle for a slightly more restrained clutch on the leg of his jeans. Clingy angels. Who knew? Dean glanced around and saw that he had been lying in the center of some sort of giant ritual diagram with Cas lying next to him on one side and Sam kneeling beside him on the other. A metal bowl, half-filled with water and containing the damp bandana, was on the floor next to Sam. Water had sloshed out and pooled on the stone around it. Three water bottles, two empty and one half-full, sat beside the bowl. There were no pews in the church, just a slate stone floor, rough stone walls and a giant pair of wooden doors with metal bands crisscrossing them like the bars of a cage. No stained glass windows, no icons, no statues of saints. The place was dead dull and looked like it had never even heard of the concept of paint. Dean and Cas were lying in the center of the nave, their feet pointed toward the doors to the chamber, the altar presumably somewhere out of sight behind them. He could hear chanting coming from back there, faint and vaguely familiar. Normally chanting was a bad sign, but Sam seemed calm enough, so he would wait and check it out once he could stand up without shaking. Meanhwhile…

"What's with the bowl?" Dean asked. "Did I smell or something?"

"When we got here..." Sam trailed off and swallowed, looking for a moment as if he might vomit.

"Dude, if you're gonna hurl – "

"When we got here you were covered in blood," he explained in rush.

"My blood?" Dean paused and took stock of himself, but aside from a general overall ache and the twisted ankle he'd gotten when the demons snatched him, he couldn't feel any other injuries. "You cleaned me up?"

"Yeah, I – it just kept coming back," Sam blurted, sounding stricken. "I'd wipe you off and the blood – it smelled and felt like real blood even though Cas said it wasn't exactly real – it would wash away, but then it would come back, stronger than before. Cuts would open up on your face or chest or arms… bite marks. I wanted to stitch them up at first but Cas said not to. He said they weren't real, and he was right. They always faded. They weren't real _here_ but they were real _there_." Sam swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing visibly. Well, that explained the minor freak out going on in baby brother's head. Sam had been seeing everything that happened to Dean in Hell… almost everything. Dear God. Dean glanced at the bowl of clean water and Sam followed his gaze. Clearly understanding what Dean couldn't bring himself to ask, Sam said, "The blood always faded away the moment I cleaned it off you. But I could still smell – " Leaping to his feet, Sam dashed for the church entrance. Shoving one of the heavy wooden doors aside, he disappeared into the night. Dean didn't follow. Much as his instincts told him to go hold Sam's too-long hair while the kid puked, his legs just weren't ready to move that fast yet.

Dean looked over and saw that Castiel was watching him with hooded eyes. The angel had removed his hand from Dean's leg and seemed calmer now, infinitely less desperate and anxious. Flashing an ironic smile at him, Dean turned slowly on his ass until he could look behind him into the apse of the church. He started and almost fell over when he saw the three figures there. Gabriel – that rotten bastard – was standing before the altar, hands raised toward the crucifix that hung on the wall behind it. His lips moved and Dean could hear him chanting slowly. The other two were lying on the floor at the base of the altar in a ritual diagram much like the one in which Dean still sat – Lucifer and Michael, Nick and the priest. Dean could feel himself beginning to shake, his throat going bone dry in an instant despite the water that Sam had plied him with. He was tense, ready to try and run despite the weakness that suffused his entire body, but he calmed slightly when Castiel laid a hand gently on his arm. "Do not fear," the angel said softly. "Lucifer cannot harm you now."

"How – " Dean gulped past the bile rising his throat. "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"It took us three days to find you even with… help." Castiel stood, then held a hand out for Dean and helped the hunter to his feet. "Once I realized what Lucifer intended, I knew that I would never be able to retrieve you from Hell on my own. I had no choice but to seek the assistance of another angel. I sought out Gabriel. He was… surprisingly willing to aid me. It seems your parting words to him had some impact."

"No kidding."

"No kidding," Castiel repeated in his gravelly bass. "He stipulated his unwillingness to assist in any attempt to kill Lucifer, but he was ready to assist me in opening the devil's gate and sneaking into Hell's antechamber to find you."

"Hell has an antechamber?" Dean asked incredulously. "Is that like a foyer or something?"

"In essence, yes. A direct assault would have been futile, but I believed I might be able to reach you by employing stealth. I was uncertain how I would get you away from Lucifer, but I had to try."

"Cas, last time you snatched me out of Hell, you had a whole army of angels with you! Are you nuts? What you're talking about sounds like a suicide mission."

"Perhaps it was, but I had no choice. I could not leave you there, like that."

Dean contemplated the insanity of angels for a moment, contemplated the infinite value of a good friend, and then realized he'd left one crucial question unasked. "Uh, Cas, how come I'm still alive? If I was in Hell, shouldn't I be dead?"

"No. Lucifer dragged your soul, your awareness into Hell, but he did it in such as way as to maintain still a connection to your physical body. Why, I do not know. Perhaps he believed that he could convert you to his cause there and then return you here to do his will. The righteous man, turned to darkness, would have made a powerful ally."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think any of this was about me." He walked forward, stumbling, but Castiel quickly took his arm and placed it around his own shoulders. Together they moved to the space just in front of the altar, stopping at the foot of the ritual circle in which Lucifer and Michael lay motionless, seemingly dead. "I think this was about him," Dean said, jerking his chin in the direction of the be-robed priest.

"Perhaps you are right," Castiel agreed.

"Look, who is that guy? I mean, I know he's Michael and all, but who is he?"

"His name is Sean Rourke. He is one of Michael's alternative vessels… and your distant cousin."

"Part of the bloodline?"

"Yes."

"What in the blue blazes is he doing here?"

"He was already here when Sam, Gabriel and I arrived. It seems that Michael learned of Lucifer's plans for you himself and intended to take steps. I don't know what he meant to do, but shortly after our arrival, after we found you ensnared in an Enochian trap much like this one," Castiel indicated the diagram before them, "he and Gabriel went apart from us for a time. There was a great deal of arguing and yelling, but when it was over, Michael informed me that I was to lead him to you in Hell. He could not easily find you on his own since you have never accepted him, but I was able to follow our link." Dean looked down at his arm and rubbed the brand there self-consciously. "I was to remain hidden, my lesser presence masked by Michael's own grace until I could safely spirit you away. Gabriel… Gabriel did all the rest." Dean looked up to where the arch-trickster was still standing before the altar, still chanting under his breath.

_Emetgis emna e a-ai-om._  
_Ananael allar babalon od baltoh saisch._  
_Bransg v affa adohi._  
_Ge-iad Bliora v hoath._  
_Cacrg v cafafam amma chis farzm fafen ohio._  
_Iad soba busdir bogpa._  
_Solpeth bi-en._

Dean frowned. His Enochian wasn't just rusty, it was pretty much non-existent, and he had no idea what Gabriel was saying. He heard the door of the church groan open behind him and turned to see that Sam had re-entered, looking wan. Dean gave him a weak smile, and Sam smiled back just as weakly. Then, turning back to Castiel, he asked, "What about Michael and Sean? How do we get them out of there now?"

Castiel's gaze dropped to the men lying in the circle, and for a moment Dean saw despair in the angel's eyes. "We do not."

"What?"

"Michael made his choice. In the end he was not a 'dick with wings,' it seems. He chose to save you, to save humanity, though he himself may now be damned."

"That's insane!" Dean yelled, causing Gabriel to stumble in mid-chant and shoot him a withering glare. "There has to be something we can do!"

"There is not. Even now, Gabriel binds the lock more tightly about our brothers' prison. They will not return to this Earth until they make peace with one another and repent their sins or until God himself intercedes."

"And their vessels? What about Nick and Sean."

"They are still connected to their angels. They can't break free. Eventually, trapped half-in and half-out of Hell in this manner, their bodies will waste away and die."

"They won't be trapped in Hell with Lucifer and Michael?"

"I pray not."

"That's not much of an answer!"

"It is all the answer I can give you," Castiel replied. "The world is safe. Humanity is safe. The apocalypse is ended, and my brothers live. _You_ are safe. I feel for Nick and Sean, but I would make the same choice again." The sincerity in the angel's eyes was undeniable, his resolve unmistakable, and Dean felt shaken by it.

Glancing back at Gabriel, he asked quietly, "What is he saying? What's all that mean?"

Taking a deep breath, Castiel replied:

Seal herein first amongst us,  
Secret wisdom bind wicked and righteous brothers.  
Guard the empty kingdom.  
Lord comfort the worshipper,  
Until the abiding cursed are lifted from woe.  
God, whose glory reigneth,  
Hearken unto my voice.

Seal herein first amongst us…

The End

_V Ipamis_

*Author's Note: The chant really is in Enochian, but the chant itself is my own invention. I am NOT an expert in Enochian so, if any Enochian scholars are reading this, please forgive my errors. Constructive criticism or corrections would be greatly appreciated. Thanks to my beta reader, Eideann. She is also a Supernatural author (I am her beta) so check out her stuff on if you've a mind. If you like this story, you may also enjoy my book length, currently in-progress story, "The Seduction of Dean Winchester." Farewell, dear readers and God bless.


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